


Bell, Book, and Candle

by La Reine Noire (lareinenoire)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Canon-Typical Violence (offscreen), Crossdressing, Gen, Imaginary Libraries, POV Female Character, POV Minor Character, academic shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lareinenoire/pseuds/La%20Reine%20Noire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Gilly discover that the Citadel is just as full of secrets and lies as Braavos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bell, Book, and Candle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gehayi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gehayi/gifts).



> Originally written for [got_exchange autumn 2014](http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/137053.html). Spoilers for all five ASOIAF books. Incorporates information from _The World of Ice and Fire_. Set immediately after Sam's last chapter in AFFC. Many thanks to my wonderful beta-readers rosamund and winter_of_our_discontent.

_i. City of bells_

 

Gilly knew she would never feel easy in cities. There were too many dark corners, too many shadows deep and dark enough for monsters to lurk. There had been monsters in the forest north of the Wall too--of more than one sort--but the ones in Braavos and Oldtown had men's faces.

 

When Sam had taken her past the scribes' stalls earlier that day she had wondered what might happen if she tried to write to her sisters. _Yes, send a raven to Craster's Keep, north of the Wall_. At the thought, she nearly laughed aloud, only to choke as the thought occurred to her that her sisters were probably dead.

 

 _There were other White Walkers, and Craster has no more sons to feed them_. She remembered the night of their escape only in desperate snatches now, following Sam's black cloak through the snow-draped woods, the sounds of slaughter echoing behind them in the only home she'd ever known. Her father was dead. _Murdered by crows for his sins_. It was a clean death, at least, though Gilly wondered if it was more than her father had deserved.

 

She feared too for her sisters, shunned and abandoned by the other wildlings now streaming south behind Mance Rayder's army. _By me too_. How long ago had it been since she and Sam and Dalla's babe left Castle Black with poor dead Maester Aemon?

 

Sam would know. Gilly might have done if they'd stayed in the north--her sisters had taught her how the stars changed depending on the time of year--but the lights of Oldtown obscured much of the sky and what few stars Gilly could see she did not recognise. _Even the stars are different in the south_.

 

What she missed the most, she realised, was the silence. There were always noises in Oldtown--the scrape of footsteps on the cobbled streets, men's voices arguing, women laughing, the clatter of metal and mail, and of course the bells. In Braavos too there had been bells, and Gilly had eventually learned that they tolled in new patterns for different times of day, their peals falling strangely against the watery canals that had so frightened her. There were canals in Oldtown, springing from the Honeywine River like so many thin branches, but perhaps the echoes of the Common Tongue instead of the muttered, unfamiliar language of Braavos made them seem less strange.

 

She could hear a waterfall of bells--new and different patterns--from the Starry Sept now as they stood side by side on a stone pier beside the Honeywine and lit Maester Aemon's funeral pyre. _Targaryens don't bury their dead_ , Sam had explained. _Dragons are fire made flesh, so they burn them. Just like wildlings_.

 

 _Wildlings burn their dead for different reasons_ , Gilly wanted to remind him. Even gentle Maester Aemon would have become a monster if the White Walkers had got to him. Sam knew that, of course, but he forgot. There were so many things jumbled up in his head that he lost track of them. That was how Gilly imagined it, at least.

 

One of the other young men-- _acolytes_ , Sam called them--from the Citadel had accompanied them, slender and dark-skinned like the sailors on the _Cinnamon Wind_. "Alleras Sand," he introduced himself. "Some call me the Sphinx."

 

"Like the riddle?" asked Gilly, recalling one of the dozens of stories Sam had told during the awful storms at sea. She'd listened to all of them even if she hadn't been able to thank him at the time. When she'd told him that long afterward, he'd blushed red as the cherries in the marketplace. _I didn't know what to do. You wouldn't stop crying_.

 

She didn't want to remember those days; she preferred recalling their voyage on the _Cinnamon Wind_ , even with what happened to Maester Aemon. _He was a kind man, but Lord Snow should never have sent him away. He was too old and weak for the journey_.

 

Now, Alleras Sand was looking at her with surprise. "Yes, like the riddle."

 

He glanced at Sam, who glared back at him. "She can be trusted, Sphinx. She's been with me all the time and she's seen the White Walkers with her own eyes. Speaking of..." He reached for Gilly's hand. "I need to find a place for Gilly. I was going to send her to Horn Hill, but..."

 

Alleras made her the sort of bow Gilly remembered the lords making before King Stannis. "I know just the place. Emma's been wanting another serving girl at the Quill and Tankard. She's a good woman and honest. And, before you ask, Mistress Gilly won't be selling anything else."

 

Sam's mouth hung open and Gilly laughed. "Are you from the Summer Islands too, Alleras Sphinx?" Her tongue tripped a little on the odd name, but his smile was encouraging.

 

"My mother was born there. My father is..." she heard a catch in his voice, " _was_ from Dorne. Although I suppose you guessed that from my name."

 

"I'm sorry," said Gilly without thinking, taking his hands in hers. In truth, she wouldn't have guessed anything from Alleras Sand's name, but southron people were strange about names. "Was it in the war?"

 

"Yes. In a manner of speaking." Sam was looking at them both uncomfortably. Gilly supposed it was because he hated his father. It was something they had in common and not with Alleras Sand. "But that's not why we're here."

 

They turned back to the bonfire. Maester Aemon's body had disappeared. Gilly made a sign against evil.

 

"He's with Egg now, whoever Egg was," she murmured.

 

"His brother," said Sam. "King Aegon the Fifth. They called him Aegon the Unlikely, because he was the youngest and nobody expected him to become king. It was why Maester Aemon took the black--so his brother could become king."

 

Alleras whistled between his teeth. "I wish I could have met him. Aemon Targaryen. The things he must have _known_."

 

"He'd have liked you," Sam told him. "He liked clever people."

 

Maester Aemon's namesake was still on the _Cinnamon Wind_ , the darling of the crew. Gilly bit her lip and tried not to think of the other babe left behind on the Wall. _Lord Snow promised to protect him from the red woman if he could_. But how much could he do, truly? She knew this one better now, with his soft thatch of dark hair, darker than Gilly's, and watchful brown eyes. _A little wildling prince far from home_.

 

Alleras and Sam came with her to the ship to say her farewells and retrieve the baby. Kojja Mo took Sam aside for a lecture that made his ears turn bright red while her father had a conversation with Alleras in the strange tongue of the Summer Islands. A few times Gilly caught a word she recognised-- _Citadel_ , _Maester_ , _Targaryen_ , _Dragons_ \--and a name, murmured under the speaker's breath. _Daenerys_.

 

There was something strange about Alleras Sand. Though they looked nothing alike, she was reminded of Lord Snow. It was something in the way the young man stood, graceful and well-taught, but careful not to call attention to himself. Even the names--Snow and Sand--were oddly similar.

 

When she asked Sam about it, he just laughed. "It's a bastard name, nothing more. Snow in the north, Sand in Dorne. Near Horn Hill, it's Flowers and in the Riverlands it's Rivers. The Stormlands and the Vale have them too...Storm and Stone."

 

After a moment, though, he looked at her with a frown. "You might be right, Gilly. Alleras sounds like a highborn Dornishman. He must be a lord's son. Although the Dornish treat their baseborn children differently than they do in the Reach. My father hated having to go there. I admit," he added after a moment, "that always made me want to visit."

 

"We should," Gilly suggested, "once you've finished forging your chain. We can go anywhere you want to go."

 

"I promised Jon I'd come back, remember? Once I'd forged my maester's chain. I have to go back to the Wall. I said my vows before a heart tree."

 

Gilly nodded, patting him on the shoulder. "I understand, Sam. I promise. But you need to stop worrying about me now. If you trust Alleras, I will too."

 

Alleras motioned to Sam then and the two began an urgent, low-voiced conversation with Quhuru Mo. Sam's brow was furrowed by the end of it, but when Gilly whispered the question to him, he just shook his head. "I'll explain later, I promise," he muttered.

 

It was the middle of the afternoon by the time they arrived at the Quill and Tankard. Alleras immediately found the stout, dark-haired woman Gilly supposed was Emma, who studied Gilly with a dubious expression. "You're not from these parts; that much is certain."

 

"I'm from just south of the Wall," said Gilly. _Don't mention wildlings_ , Sam had cautioned her on the way. _They've just been raided by the ironborn and sometimes people in the south can't tell the difference_. Gilly didn't see why that was _her_ problem, but she agreed to the lie. Now she raised her chin, stung. "I'm a good worker and anything I don't know, I'll learn."

 

"This one," she nodded at Alleras, speaks for you, so I suppose I'll just need to trust that. You'll share quarters with me and my daughter Rosey in the attic. If he's," she pointed at the baby, "too noisy, you're out."

 

"He won't be," Gilly told her. The baby chose that moment to grin widely at Rosey, who Gilly guessed to be a year or two younger than her. He'd learned on the _Cinnamon Wind_ that his smiles brought him attention. _Just like his father, the king beyond the Wall_. "He's a good boy." She forced herself to say the name out loud. "Aemon is his name."

 

For a moment, Emma stared at her. Then she burst into laughter. "And who are you, then? The Mad King's runaway daughter?"

 

Alleras made a shushing noise, his eyes suddenly on the doorway. "I was hoping you'd be discreet, Emma."

 

"Oh, I see." Emma took several breaths, though she still let out a giggle or two. "This is all part of your grand plan, is it, _Master_ Sphinx?" Alleras glared at her. "Very well."

 

Gilly glanced between them and sighed. "My name is Gilly. I don't know anything about any mad kings. I named the babe after a sweet old man who just died. One of the maesters from up there." She pointed vaguely toward the rest of the city and where she supposed the Citadel was. "That's all."

 

"Hm." Emma looked her up and down. "I don't believe that's all, but I'll say so if anyone asks. We keep secrets well here." Again, her eyes measured Alleras.

 

"Gilly like the gillyflower," said Rosey, holding out her hands. "May I hold him?"

 

Gilly handed her the baby, who immediately caught hold of one of her honey-coloured curls and tugged.

 

Whatever Emma's opinions were, she kept them to herself as Sam and Alleras made their farewells.

 

****

 

_ii. The book of riddles_

 

Their journey to and from the Quill and Tankard seemed to take an age, but perhaps that was just because, to Sam's mind, they were rapidly running out of time to save the world. _I promised Maester Aemon, and I'm so very close. I won't fail him. I_ can't _fail him_.

 

"But _who_ is the Silver Widow?" demanded Sam as he scrambled to keep up with the slender Dornishman. "And why does she buy books?"

 

"If you knew the answer to either of those questions, Tarly, you'd be a wealthy man." He could hear the laughter in Alleras Sand's voice. "She's promised to wed the man who can guess her true name."

 

"Nobody actually does that, do they?" asked Sam. "That seems like the sort of thing that only ever happens in songs."

 

"Well, you can ask her yourself. She's got your copy of Maester Thomax."

 

"The Silver Widow," Sam repeated to himself as they climbed the hill away from the river. "Why do they call her that?"

 

"They say she was married long ago but her husband betrayed her and left her with nothing but a handful of silver. Now any maester or acolyte from the Citadel who wants an unusual book or scroll must ask her first, for she buys each and every one before they even leave the harbour. Half the men in Oldtown have tried to marry her but she'll have none of them. She's still married, she says, no matter what her faithless husband thinks, and she will remain so until someone correctly answers her riddle."

 

There were riddles everywhere in Oldtown, it seemed. It was only fair, Sam supposed, that he was wandering the city with a young man nicknamed the Sphinx. "Why books?"

 

"So many questions," Alleras remarked, glancing back over his shoulder as Sam lumbered toward him. "Why do you think I know?"

 

"You seem to know," Sam admitted. "It's a useful gift, that. I never seem to know anything, even when I do. Jon said to pretend and eventually it would become real."

 

"He's right." Alleras slowed his steps until he was beside Sam. "This is Lord Snow you mean. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, though he's scarcely older than we are." Sam wondered if he'd imagined the pause before _we_ , and gave the other acolyte a sideways glance. On first glance, Alleras seemed no older than Sam, but he'd begun to wonder as he spent more time with the Dornishman.

 

"You wouldn't guess to speak to him," Sam murmured. "Or from what he's done."

 

"That's war for you." He seemed about to say something, but instead came to a halt in front of a stone-fronted manse with windows made of intricately designed stained glass. "Here we are. Home of the Silver Widow."

 

Sam swallowed uncomfortably. "I don't have nearly enough coin." _Not for a place that looks like this_.

 

"If you truly believe that Archmaester Marwyn needs this book, I'll make certain you have coin."

 

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that." Sam frowned at him. "I'm still a member of the Night's Watch, you know."

 

Alleras only laughed. "Follow me, Sam Tarly." He stepped up to the door and knocked sharply. The servant who opened it took one look at him and stepped back to let him in. _Who is Alleras Sand and why does everyone seem to know him?_ Every time Sam asked himself that question, however, he found himself distracted, and this time was no different as he stepped into a house unlike any he'd ever seen before. To his right was a great chamber with windows lining the walls, letting in a cascade of late-afternoon sunlight. Seated at two long tables were groups of maesters and acolytes of the Citadel poring over books and scrolls. Moving between them were liveried servants, pausing to answer questions or to replace the books being examined.

 

To his left was a staircase, its walls lined with rich tapestries. Alleras tugged on Sam's arm and they followed the first servant up the stairs to a solar with brightly painted walls and, again, the windows uncurtained to let in the light. Standing in front of them was a woman dressed and veiled in black.

 

"Marwyn's Sphinx," she said. Her voice was low and sweet. "What brings you here so urgently?"

 

"My friend here," said Alleras, gesturing to Sam, "is one of the Black Brothers of the Night's Watch, as you can see, and it seems you've come into possession of a book he was meant to convey to Archmaester Marwyn."

 

The Widow turned, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Then Archmaester Marwyn can buy it like everybody else, once it's been examined and its price determined."

 

"But he needs it now so he can travel to the far side of the world and save us all from winter." Sam didn't realise that he'd spoken aloud until he finished speaking and the silence stretched for several moments. Blushing, he lowered his eyes. "I mean...he needs it."

 

The Widow nodded after a moment. "Will you tell me the title?"

 

After he told her, she made her way to the large wooden table at the centre of the room and lifted a fragile-looking book that Sam recognised immediately. "What would the Night's Watch and Archmaester Marwyn want with an oft-discredited account of the early Targaryens?"

 

"I don't know," said Sam truthfully. "I was only told to bring it to the Citadel."

 

"And _you_ ," the widow added, pointing to Alleras, "would suggest that it go to Marwyn rather than to the Citadel."

 

"You know why, m'lady."

 

"I've told you a thousand times, Sphinx, I'm no lady." But there was no reproach in her voice, only rueful frustration. "Of course, there is a bit more to this particular volume than meets the eye."

 

At her gesture, Sam stepped forward, Alleras his silent shadow. The Widow opened the book to a painstakingly detailed illustration of a dragon labelled _Syrax_ , but pointed instead to a series of handwritten notes in the margins that Sam could barely read.

 

Beside him, Alleras drew in a sharp breath. "Is this...?"

 

"The original?" Sam could hear the smile in the Widow's voice. "Mayhaps." When the Widow turned to him, he could just barely see the glint of white teeth beneath the veil that he now realised was made of Myrish lace dyed black and shot with silver. "You said this came from Castle Black?"

 

"I..." Sam looked at Alleras, who gave him a barely perceptible nod. "It belonged to Maester Aemon Targaryen, may he rest in the Mother's grace."

 

"And the Archmaester travels to Slaver's Bay," added Alleras. "As soon as his ship finishes taking on its cargo, which could be as soon as dawn."

 

"He's not the only one," the Widow said, turning away from the table and the book and back to the row of windows, which Sam realised commanded a glorious view of the harbour and the Honeywine far below, painted gold with the setting sun. "Slaver's Bay is a popular place. Lots of stories from Slaver's Bay, and they grow stranger as the days pass. Although perhaps no stranger than the tales from the capital."

 

Sam recalled what he'd seen and heard on their slow, horror-filled journey up the Honeywine River. _Till the bitch queen lets Lord Paxter off his leash_. "What's happened now?" he asked uncertainly.

 

"The Queen Regent," said the Widow, all the satisfaction in her voice of a cat with a dish of cream, "is arrested for adultery and treason."

 

Sam opened his mouth to ask why that was a good thing. _I suppose it means Lord Redwyne can bring his fleet back_. But that didn't explain why even Alleras was smiling. "Tell your sister," the Widow added. "It will improve her mood."

 

"Nothing improves Obara's moods," said Alleras with a shrug. "No doubt she'll hear it when she reaches home." He held out his hand. "How much do you want for Maester Thomax?"

 

"For _this_ copy I should rightly ask a small fortune." She held the book delicately, such that it almost danced between her fingers. Sam could see one crooked page--likely the one he'd smudged when he'd dropped the book at Castle Black. "Does that trouble you, Master Samwell?"

 

"Only because I have no coin. All of Maester Aemon's books are priceless--I can't disagree with you. But, my lady," he ignored what he'd heard her say to Alleras, "this book belongs to the Night's Watch. It's very important. I've travelled all the way from Eastwatch to Braavos and finally here, and Maester Aemon _died_ before he could tell anyone what he knew. It sounds mad, I know, but it's all true."

 

"As you yourself said," Alleras put in, "the stories are getting stranger."

 

"They are indeed. Tell me the whole story, Master Samwell, and I'll consider what you say."

 

Sam did as he was bid, and though Alleras had already heard the tale twice before, he sat quietly near the window as Sam told it a third time. He found that he stammered less in spite of the Widow's unsettling presence, her face unseen behind her veils. When he came to their return journey on the _Cinnamon Wind_ , there were parts that he left out. _Gilly isn’t her business_. He also left out Dareon altogether. _I need to speak well of the Watch, now more than ever_.

 

When he finished, the Widow studied him for a moment, her head tilted to one side. She truly did remind him of a cat, for all that he had no idea what she looked like. "I can tell you why Archmaester Marwyn wants this book." She turned the pages quickly, and Sam could see her mouthing the words as she read them. Finally, she stopped and held out the book to him.

 

"Of dragons and dragon-riders, and the bond between them." Sam blinked up at her. "Daenerys Targaryen has dragons."

 

The Widow inclined her head. "Three dragons and only one queen."

 

They departed soon afterward, the book clutched tightly in Sam's arms as though he feared the Widow might change her mind. They barely made it to the end of the street, however, before he turned to Alleras with a sigh. "I'll admit it if you will. For about five seconds back there you imagined yourself riding on a dragon."

 

Alleras laughed. "Of course I did. Only a fool wouldn't." He squinted toward the sunset. "We'd best find the Archmaester."

 

Sam followed without another look back.

 

****

 

_iii. The black candle_

 

Long after the others were snoring in their beds, the Sphinx lingered in Archmaester Marwyn's chambers. There, the glass candle burned in silence, its flame steady even as the breeze picked up from the open window.

 

Alleras was reading a letter by its light--or, rather, rereading it. _You should stop. You should remember the rules_.

 

The first rule was that Alleras Sand never spoke of his family.

 

One glance was all it took the first time, only a day or two after the twisting black candle in Archmaester Marwyn's chambers suddenly came alight. The Mage had warned them all not to look at it too closely, but his suspicious gaze lingered longest on the Sphinx, by far the most inquisitive of his little cluster of acolytes. Alleras hadn't even meant to do it the first time.

 

 _\--there was sand on the ground, but it was no desert. Somewhere a crowd roared and there was a clash of steel, an echo of a voice familiar as the Sphinx's own--_ "Elia Martell! Say her name!" _\--and a giant's answering growl over the sickening crunch of metal and bone, a man's skull smashed like an overripe orange. Blood on the sand, pooling, splashing like the fountains in the Water Gardens_ \--

 

Alleras Sand had no father. Not anymore.

 

A drop of water landed on the letter, blotting the ink. It was not the first--fully one word in eight was thus marred. Alleras shook his head with a sniff. It had arrived the previous week from Cousin Arianne. _Don't be alone in your grief, sister; come to Sunspear. There is much to tell_. That single, damning word was reason enough not to be reading it here by candlelight.

 

Alleras shoved the letter back into his doublet and turned away from the candle. _How could Father have been so..._ Stupid was not the word. It _wasn't_. The Red Viper was a thousand things but stupid had never been one of them. _Reckless. Foolish. Enraged. Mad_.

 

 _Never shoot or strike in anger_ had been his advice all those years ago when he'd watched Alleras shoot and miss shaft after shaft, nervousness piling on fear of disappointing a newly discovered father. _Why didn't he take his own advice?_ If he had, the Mountain that Rides would be dead and Prince Oberyn Martell returning in triumph to Sunspear, a monster's head as his grisly trophy.

 

Like as not, the Mountain was dead all the same. _But that will not bring back my father_.

 

Nor would following Marwyn the Mage to Slaver's Bay, though Alleras had tried that too. Just a few hours ago he'd stood on the pier as the crew of the _Cinnamon Wind_ loaded the last of their new cargo in readiness for the morning tide and begged the Mage to take him along.

 

"And what would I do," Marwyn had asked softly, "with an acolyte who has three forged links, eh? You're bright, Sphinx, but what the dragon queen needs is a man who knows the world."

 

"But I can _help_ you," protested Alleras. "I've sailed on ships since I was a child and my High Valyrian is better than yours; you said it yourself--"

 

"You'll do more good to me here and we both know it. Finish your chain, Sphinx. You're well on your way. When I bring the queen back to her shores, I expect you to know all you can of dragonlore to help us." No doubt Alleras' face spoke volumes, for Marwyn reached out and placed one scarred hand on his shoulder with surprising gentleness. "And if I don't get there, whatever the reason, it'll be you and the fat boy left who know anything at all in this mess of grey sheep. You are my legacy, such as it is."

 

"Samwell Tarly," Alleras supplied under his breath. "Lord Randyll Tarly's son."

 

"Who he was before he came here doesn't matter. You of all people should know that. You need to watch over him as he settles in, and you can trust him, Sphinx."

 

"You've seen that?"

 

"I've seen that and more. But hear me, Alleras," he added, the warning in his voice prompting Alleras to meet his eyes, "do not look too long into the black candle's flame. It's consumed better men than you or me."

 

"But I--"

 

"I know what you see. That will also consume you if you let it. Revenge is a dead man's game."

 

"Then take me with you."

 

"I'll do no such thing. You're staying here, Sphinx, like it or not."

 

And so Alleras was here, doing precisely what he'd promised the Mage he wouldn't do. _Serves him right_.

 

"I thought that if you looked into a flame too long you went blind," said Samwell Tarly's voice from the darkness behind.

 

Alleras jumped to his feet, one hand poised on the knife at his waist. He could see nothing at all, save the flickering echo of the flame splitting painfully across his vision. "Easy," Sam added, holding out his empty hands. "I didn't mean to startle you. Well..." he looked down, then back up at Alleras, "I suppose I did. You were so close to the flame that I thought you'd burn your nose."

 

Alleras rubbed his nose and winced. "I suppose I should thank you, then."

 

Sam shrugged. "No need. Were you seeing something in it? I remember Archmaester Marwyn said..."

 

Alleras held up one hand to stop him. "I wasn't supposed to be looking at it. You can't sleep?"

 

"I've tried to, but I can't stop _thinking_. I mean--dragons can travel so much _faster_ than people and so can ravens. If only we could find a way to send a raven to Meereen..."

 

" _Hush_ ," hissed Alleras. "You can't just _say_ things like that, Sam. Not without Marwyn here to speak for us. We've got to keep quiet. Forge our links, one by one, and don't let them suspect us of anything."

 

"But the Wall is in danger _now_ ," protested Sam.

 

"And our job is to learn how to stop that danger," Alleras told him. "It's why we're here. All the knowledge of the Citadel is at your fingertips, Sam."

 

"I know. It's amazing, actually, and I feel awful saying that when my friends are dying thousands of miles to the north."

 

Alleras reached out and placed one hand on Sam's shoulder. "You're going to help them here. We'll learn everything we can about these White Walkers and you can send messages to Castle Black with what you know."

 

"But if the maesters find out..."  


"They won't. Pate is one of Walgrave's acolytes so he can send any message you want and no one will be the wiser. From Sam the Slayer to Sam the Sage?" he teased, grinning as Sam's face turned bright red.

 

"I'm really not," he mumbled.

 

"You killed a White Walker with your own hands. Marwyn knew it even before you told him, which means he must have seen it in the candle."

 

"Will you tell me what you see?"

 

Alleras almost lied. _I see my mother on the prow of her ship, laughing_. But Marwyn had told him to trust Sam. _Do I care what Marwyn thinks?_ After a moment, he murmured, "I see my father die."

 

"Oh, gods." Sam took a step back. "You said he died in the war."

 

"In a manner of speaking," Alleras said. "He was fighting just one man--a giant of a man, a monster if ever one existed." He recalled then that Sam had seen real giants north of the Wall, but that didn't matter. "He nearly killed him, wounded him nigh unto death, but the monster caught him by the ankle and pulled him down. Smashed his skull like an egg."

 

Sam's face was tinged with green. "That sounds...horrible."

 

Alleras nodded. "I see that in the flame."

 

"But you keep looking."

 

"Until that last moment, he's still alive." Even as Alleras spoke the words, he heard Marwyn's warning in his mind again. _Revenge is a dead man's game_. "But I'm not going to look anymore," he decided in that moment. "There are more important tasks at hand."

 

"Forging my chain, I know."

 

"Not just that. Maester Thomax isn't the only man who wrote about dragons. There must be dozens of books and scrolls in the Citadel's archives that nobody knows about. You and I are going to find all of them. Even the ones they say are lost because I don't believe them."

 

Sam's grin made his eyes light up. "I've always wanted to read Septon Barth's _Unnatural History_ but they said the only copy was here."

 

"Under lock and key, but it turns out," Alleras reached into his doublet and drew out a long gold chain from which hung a small iron key, "that I have the key. Marwyn's. He's got no need for it where he's going."

 

Years ago, when Alleras the Sphinx had been a girl named Sarella, she had discovered how to distract herself from her troubles with riddles. It was perhaps only fitting that to distract herself from the emptiness that threatened to consume her from within, she had set herself a riddle greater than any the Citadel had seen in nearly two hundred years.

 

But there were black candles burning in the Citadel, White Walkers in the darkness beyond the Wall, and dragons in the skies above Slaver’s Bay. The maesters-- _Marwyn’s grey sheep_ \--thought of nothing beyond who sat the Iron Throne and how to control him, while closing their eyes to what they had convinced themselves was impossible. _There are more things in this world and the next than are dreamt of in their philosophy_.

 

Sarella Sand was her father’s daughter, and she would find them out.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this fic was: Sarella Sand and Samwell Tarly in the Citadel! I really want to see the friendship growing between "Alleras", the cleverest of the aspiring maesters, and Sam. If you want to bring in Maerwyn the Mage (maybe he sends a message from Essos?), Gilly, Sarella's sisters or Sam's father Randyll, knock yourself out. I just have a soft spot for Sam, whether it's the book version whose father became furious at the thought of his son being a maester or the TV version who always wanted to be a wizard."
> 
> This story picks up after the events described in Sam's final chapter in AFFC. All dates are based on [this timeline](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheet/ccc?key=0Aj_uNZmcJaTddG9BVU5tRnJJTE5KcE5JRkFha1ZfNUE#gid=8). Maester Thomax's book (full title: _Dragonkin: Being a History of House Targaryen from Exile to Apotheosis, with a Consideration of the Life and the Death of Dragons_ ) is referenced in AFFC, Ch. 5 when Sam is carrying it from the library to Maester Aemon's chambers in Castle Black, but we're never told what happens to it afterward (whereas the other book Sam is carrying, Colloquo Votar's _Jade Compendium_ , later appears in Jon Snow's chamber). It seemed plausible that _Dragonkin_ might have travelled with Sam, Gilly, and Maester Aemon to Braavos and ended up confiscated with the rest of the books to pay their passage on the Cinnamon Wind. We are told that the book has detailed illustrations of early Targaryen dragons, although the specific chapter title mentioned is my invention.
> 
> The Silver Widow is also mine. Another of the recipient's prompts really caught my eye but I couldn't find a way to get the two stories to work together so I ended up dropping one in favour of the other, and a few scraps remained. I'd love to write the other sometime. I assume there is a steady trade in rare books, scrolls, and writing supplies in Oldtown, as there must be with the Citadel and the headquarters of the Faith of the Seven both within the city's walls.
> 
> Septon Barth's only survives in a handful of copies after being burned with the rest of his collected works during the reign of Baelor the Blessed. We know that Maester Aemon at one point had access to a copy but it is unclear if that copy was his own or belonged to the Citadel. We also know from canon that Tyrion Lannister has read it.
> 
> As I'm sure is clear, I'm following the theory that Alleras the Sphinx and Sarella Sand, fifth daughter of Oberyn Martell, are one and the same, and that the "game" she plays in Oldtown is disguising herself as a man to infiltrate the Citadel (though I am also assuming that she is not in any other way involved in the Dornish conspiracy).
> 
> (And, yes, the penultimate line is adapted from Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_ 1.5.165-66.)


End file.
